The Chance in the Shot
by macrauchenia
Summary: When Dr. Sweets and Special Agent Booth are ambushed in their office by a desperate murderer, the life of one of the men hangs in the balance while the other must use every resource he possesses to keep his partner alive until help arrives.
1. Chapter 1

**Timeframe/Info About This Fic: **I suppose anytime in Season 8  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to their rightful owners.  
**Authors Note: **Oh my gosh, I can not stop fandom jumping! I watched one episode of Bones, fall in love with Sweets, and now I've watched over 60 episodes in less than a week. Oh, and now I'm mangling my favorite character. How is this sane?! I know this show will end me.  
So, uh, first Bones fic if you didn't figure it out xD

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Sweets saw him first. Their suspect appeared at the glass door, brandishing his gun without a sound. The psychologist's own body stiffened from a natural response to tension as his pale, steady hand gradually slid over to his concealed weapon. After the surprising lack of a snarky comment from his younger friend, Agent Booth, who was rummaging through a discrete file, looked up and glowered at their unwelcomed visitor.

"Mathias," he snarled.

Instead of speaking, Sweets focused his energies on studying the murderer and escaped convict. From the case photos, Ronald Mathias had always seemed so steady and composed; however, in the flesh he was much less impressive. The middle-aged man's steely gray eyes darted fretfully from the young psychologist to the special agent. Sweets could only imagine what was sparking through the criminal's head at the moment, though if he had to hazard a guess, he wouldn't have been very wrong in hypothesizing that Mathias had bad intentions when he followed the two FBI agents back to Booth's office after "official" closing time. While Mathias and Booth exchanged death glares, Sweets achieved his own "ah-hah" moment in his on-the-spot psych analysis.

_Based on his expression when he saw Booth was not alone, he did not expect me to be present. _Sweets noticed the subtle flickers that Mathias would dart in his direction. _Though he doesn't see me as a threat—more of a complication. Two against one. Regardless, Mathias's situation has changed for him and his confidence is undermined. He's now trying to justify to himself whether or not going after Booth is the best choice or if he should wait for another opportunity._

Despite the noticeable (at least to the young psychologist) change in Mathias's demeanor, Sweets was still wise to remember that Mathias was a danger and his mistake would only make him irrational and more lethal. Glancing sideways at his partner, Sweets could see that Booth was thinking about the same thing.

"What do you want, Mathias?" Booth growled again. His hand itched to grab his gun, but at the moment Mathias's own barrel was currently pointed as his chest. "Why did you come here?"

With his nervous, flickering eyes, the escaped criminal saw Booth's subtle attempts to retrieve his handheld. Licking the corner of his dry mouth, Mathias raised his weapon higher and unlocked the safety with a loud _click._ "Not a move, _Seeley_," he drawled in a slow voice that was steadily gaining confidence, "or I'll shoot the kid." He lazily swung the loaded and cocked weapon in Sweets' direction. "Now, put your hands up and don't try anything funny."

Still keeping his death glare on the murder, Booth slowly raised his hands in the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Booth could see that Sweets hadn't followed the directions and it was unlikely Mathias would make him. For once, the psychologist's youthful appearance worked in his favor, since the interloper seemed to care little about the younger man other than the fact that he was a "hostage."

Instead of watching Mathias, Sweets turned most of his focus on Booth. From their time in the field together, they had developed a natural sort of system that helped them get through sticky situations like this. Sweets only had to wait for the signal set from the special agent.

Booth's left pinky twitched twice in the air, unnoticed by Mathias. Sweets swallowed once to clear the lump in his throat. He took a deep breath to smooth down the jitters in his stomach—which Mathias confused with a gulp of terror. His hand by his gun twitched three times from nerves and pent-up adrenaline, and Sweets was almost afraid that he had blown their cover. However, Mathias could care less about the psychologist and channeled most of his attention on the glowering special agent in front of him.

"You didn't answer my question, Mathias. What do you want?"

Mathias rolled his gray eyes, his attention diverted enough for Sweets to tuck his right hand quickly into his suit jacket and on the smooth grip on his gun. The cold metal was a shock to his sweaty palm, and his grip tightened instinctively around the weapon. He still wasn't completely confident in his shooting abilities, and now that Daisy was gone, he wondered who he was going to "protect" this time.

"Isn't it obvious, Booth?" Booth's second sign—a rapid three blinks in his left eye—went through. With a faint bob of his chin, Sweets responded with a subtle "I'm ready" look in Booth's direction. "I want revenge for you locking me away for all this time."

Booth gritted his teeth. "You killed five people, including a federal agent. You're lucky I didn't shoot you on the spot."

Mathias shrugged good-naturedly, pulling the gun back in Booth's direction so that the barrel pointed right at the agent's nose. He opened his mouth to most likely finish his gloats when Booth completed the third and final signal. Booth licked his lips while curling his right hand into a tight fist. Taking that to mean "fire at will," Sweets quickly drew out his weapon and fired.

The psychologist was correct in his report that Mathias was dangerous. With a shocking speed for someone caught off guard, he did a remarkable job in reacting. Seeing the reflection of the gun against the glass windows out of the corner of his eye, Mathias turned sharply to try to dodge the bullet. He was able to throw his body further to the right, but Sweets' bullet still managed to nail him hard in the right shoulder. Mathias's body jerked back from the impact and his gut reaction for survival caused him to yank the trigger backwards. The room filled with an enormous _boom._

The next few moments seemed to flow in slow motion for Sweets. Even though his partially severed shoulder guaranteed that Mathias would be inaccurate in his shot, it was well-aimed before and the bullet clearly wanted to follow the wanted trajectory as if it were actively seeking Booth. The special agent was too distracted with trying to bring his hands down to get his own gun to really pay much attention to the bullet's projected path. Perhaps he was too consumed with hate for Mathias to really care.

_"Agent Booth!"_

However, Sweets saw what was going on and decided to be the stupid hero that Booth had forbidden him from every becoming. Attempting to achieve the impossible and beat a speeding bullet, Sweets was only able to throw his right hand on Booth's left shoulder and using it as a base to pull his body closer to the special agent so they were facing each other like reflections in a mirror. He wasn't able to complete the second part of his ill-advised plan where he was going to shove Booth and himself to the ground. He was stopped as the bullet finally ripped into the upper left-hand corner of his completely exposed back, traveling straight through his chest with a burning fire until it erupted just below his front chest pocket. Similar to how the psychologist's bullet had propelled Mathias backwards, the force of Mathias's shot caused Sweets' back to arch from the impact. The bloody and disfigured bullet tore through the taunt skin across Booth's right upper arm, drawing a crimson blossom across his nicked ivory dress shirt. But Booth's own injury was forgotten at the sight of his downed friend. A rattling gasp from the unexpectedly sharp pierce of pain was ripped from Sweet's crimson-strained and quivering lips. A forceful cough tore its ragged way through the trembling boy, causing splatters of red to fly from his mouth and speckle both of their shocked faces with blood. Sweets' grip on the agent's left shoulder tightened almost painfully as if the young man needed the support to keep him standing. Then suddenly the young man's grip slackened considerably as if he had decided to give up on remaining vertical after all.

_"Sweets!"_

Booth's attention was briefly torn away from his friend when he heard the metal tinkling of Mathias's handgun as he was frantically trying to ready it for another shot at his missed target. Mathias was doing an admirable job of trying to aim his shaking, non-dominant hand, but he didn't have a chance. Booth turned his crimson hazed glare towards the murderer and fired half a clip into the offender's chest. Without even letting out a squawk of pain, Mathias jerked backwards sharply and collapsed into a puddle of his own blood, his once lively gray eyes now dull and glassy.

Booth let the weapon in his hand drop to the floor with a loud clatter and turned his focus back on the fading Sweets. He pressed down on a button on his communication transmitter, praying that someone was there to receive his message. Since it was after hours, he hoped his assumptions were correct that his call would be redirected to the nearest agent.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth. Is anyone out there?"

There was a pause where the only thing Booth heard was Sweets laboring gasp and the faint crackle of air silence. _Just hold on, Sweets. _With his free arm, Booth tried to keep the trembling young man propped up. The psychologist's limp hand had long since slipped from Booth's shoulder and it was only through sheer will that he had remained standing for so long.

"Booth?" The agent nearly felt his knees give out in relief. He recognized the voice. _Thank God. _"What's your status?" The voice sounded confused as to why he was receiving a call so late in the night from Booth.

"Ronald Mathias," Booth growled into the walkie-talkie. "He's gon—dead, but we have a man down. I repeat, an officer has been shot."

There was another static-y pause as Booth waited with bated breath for a response. "Are you injured, Booth?"

The agent briefly regarded his own injury before shaking his head. "The other officer is priority Alpha." Sweets swayed violently again and Booth nearly dropped the young man. "Come on, buddy," he muttered under his breath. "Stay with me." He squeezed a few fingers deep into the meat of Sweets' shoulders, hoping to bring the boy out of his reverie. He hated to cause the shrink more pain, but it was necessary to keep him conscious.

Sweets' bright eyes focused sharply for a moment on his support. "Booth…?" the cracked whisper escaped his lips.

"Shhh, just rest for a moment, kid."

"Paramedics have been dispatched. Estimated time of arrival—five to ten minutes." There was another long pause, then "Hold tight, Booth."

Without even clicking the button to respond, Booth murmured a soft thanks under his breath. He dropped his heavy hand from his transmitter on his shoulder and used it further hold up a waning Sweets.

"You holdin' in there, Sweets?" The psychologist merely gagged in response, crimson dribbling over his stained teeth and gums as he tried to smile. Booth felt his gut drop painfully. To have so much bleeding from what could only be his internal organs wasn't good. Based on the position of Sweets' exit wound, it was entirely possible for the bullet to have skewered through one of his lungs.

"I'm going to try to lay you down, okay?" Booth wasn't sure if that was a sloppy nod from Sweets or an exhausted sag, but the young man's head dipped down considerably. However, he decided to take it as a yes, since he doubted the boy could last much longer on his feet. Already blood was pouring from the hole in the young man's chest, dripping down Sweets' freshly laundered suit and dress shirt. Sweets' already pale skin was taking on the hue of bleached eggshells. Booth's own slice stung, but he shoved it aside viciously to focus solely on his downed friend.

Placing both hands on either of Sweet's thin shoulders, Booth carefully twisted the young man around so he could lower him back-first to the ground. Keeping one hand firmly on one of Sweets' shoulders, the agent's other hand was to the boy's back to try to keep it stabilized. His hand on Sweets' back slipped and ran across the bloody entrance hole. Sweets whimpered slightly in pain at the sharp and accidental contact, pulling several frenzied apologies from the older man. Booth felt bile rise in his throat and suddenly had the strong urge to either be sick or to kill someone. Despite his long history with bones and various mutilated bodies, this was especially painful, seeing as it was technically his fault Sweets had been shot. He had been the one to convince the criminal profiler to stay the few extra hours to help catch Mathias. Never could Booth have imagined that this would have been the final outcome.

After quite a bit of painful shuffling, Booth was on the ground and all but cradling the thin, pale psychologist. He pulled Sweets further into his lap in order to get a better view of his exit wound. For a brief, terrifying moment, Booth was reminded of his own daughter. If Sweets hadn't responded the way he did, it was entirely possible that _he _would have been the one who was dying and unable to see his family again. The thought made the Special Agent's gut twist painfully.

For most of the time, the psychologist had remained relatively alert, cringing and gasping often, but still functioning. The moment Booth got Sweets in a horizontal position, however, was the moment when the young man started to fade away. Sweat matted the young man's brow and his dark brown eyes roamed without sight across the ceiling. Slowly his eyes started to drift closed. Booth pulled off his own bloody tie and pressed it against the injury as hard as he could until the young man whimpered and squirmed below him. He relented slightly on the pressure, but kept the temporary press in place.

"Sweets," Booth lightly shook the injured man. "You can't sleep."

"Tired…" The young genius slurred, squeezing his eyes further shut. "Hurts…"

"I know, buddy," Booth tried to force his voice to stay positive. The uncharacteristic change in his speech pattern caused the psychologist in Sweets to pull him back into the world of the living. The younger's brow scrunched questioningly as his eyes reopened. _Thank God,_ Booth sighed in his mind. _Just keep him conscious. _"We'll get through this, Lance."

At this point, Sweets was staring at Booth was an odd expression, his lips curled into something that looked like a pained grimace. Worry flood Booth's system. "Is everything alright, Sweets? Can you breathe alright?" The psychologist's rasping breaths were getting more ragged by the second and every so often sprinkles of crimson would explode from his throat.

"That's," the injured young man paused to catch a few rattling gasps before continuing, "first time" he paused again, "called me _Lance_."

Despite the fragmented sentence, Booth got the gist, though it caught him quite off guard. "What? Really?" He reconsidered his past meetings with the young man. "_Can't _be."

The grimace, which Booth realized was Sweets' attempt to smile through the pain, grew broader. The young genius seemed to be trying to reclaim his fading strength. "It's my job to know," he rasped. "No Lance, only Sweets."

"Huh," Booth tucked this away for further thought. He had always known the boy's first name, but he never did actually use it.

With this conversation fading to an end, Sweats started to dwindle back into his previously catatonic state. Booth was able to shake him back into consciousness when his phone rang. The shrill sound in the deathly silent room caused Booth to jump, jostling Sweets in the process. The young man whimpered but his eyes remained firmly closed. Booth scrambled to slip the phone from his back pocket just in case it was someone who could help.

"Booth." His greeting was quick and direct.

Bones' worried sigh filled his ear. "Booth, are you alright? An FBI agent came to the Jeff—"

"I'm fine, don't worry." He glanced nervously at Sweets. "But—"

"Some suit just said an officer was down. They didn't say who," Hodgins's relieved voice entered the conversation. Obviously he was in a conference call with Bones and her squints.

"It's Sweets," Booth stated flatly.

"No!"

"Our Sweets?"

"How?"

"What happened?"

Booth could hear Cam and a few of the interns in the mix as well now. He hit speaker on his own phone so that Sweets, if he was still miraculously conscious, could hear them too. The young man's eye's fluttered open for a second as the multitude of voices filled the once silent room.

"Mathias came to my office while we were going through some old files," Booth's voice was bitter and furious. No one dared to ask what happened next. "I'll fill in the details later, but Sweets was shot through the back and the bullet came through his left chest."

"That is an interesting position for Sweets to have been shot. It would onl—" Dr. Brennan started to muse out loud.

Booth felt a surge of fury for no particular reason. "_Bones!" _He hissed. "You can have your hypotheticals later. What do I do _now_ to keep him alive?" He glanced down at the trembling young man in his arms and his frown deepened. The genius's mouth was an interesting shade of purple due to the blue tint to his lips and the staining crimson on his lips. His chest heaved again, drawing more blood to his lips and causing the exit wound to dribble more violently.

Somewhere in the lab, Booth could hear Angela's distant voice as if it were coming from across the ocean. "I've been tracking the ambulance they sent to the Hoover Building since we got the call, but—"

"But what?" Booth pushed urgently.

"Traffic congestion has made it harder for the ambulance to get to you."

"No!" Booth and Sweets had already been waiting for what felt like forever. Booth looked back down at his dying friend. "Come on, Sweets. Get into this conversation." He squeezed the young man's shoulders until his eyes opened up again.

"Stop…'m tired," he slurred again. The psychologist tried to lift his languid arms, but they barely got off the floor.

"Was that Sweets?" Hodgins's worried voice echoed through the phone.

"It is absolutely necessary that you keep him conscious," added Dr. Brennan. "If he loses consciousness for extended periods of time, it will be increasingly difficult to rouse him each time."

"Brennan's right, Seeley," Camille inputted. "You have to make sure he stays awake. Tell him a story, make jokes, I don't care how. Just don't let him sleep."

Booth nodded. "Don't let him sleep. Got it." _That's harder than they think it is. _"What else can I do?"

He could hear rustling on the other side as if everyone was reshuffling in their seats or if someone was pacing. Cam's warm, calm voice appeared on the line again. "Have you done anything to stop the bleeding?"

Booth looked back at his patient. "I was able to block up the exit wound, but I can't get to the entry hole on his back without flipping him over again. I don't think he wants to do that again," he added as a side comment.

Cam was quiet for a moment. "That should be enough for now, but if you could cover the hole in his back with your hand, that would be best." Booth gently maneuvered his free hand underneath Sweets' sticky back to cover the entrance wound. "Has he coughed up blood yet?"

Based on the way Cam said that, Booth had a feeling he wasn't going to be fond of the answer he was about to receive. "He was coughing up blood the moment the bullet hit him."

"That isn't good, Booth." Brennan's worried voice broke back into the conversation. "If the bullet punctured his lung, it is only a matter of time before it collapses entirely. Booth, is there an Ascherman Chest Seal or a Tension Pneumothorax Access Kit present?"

"A what? I'm in my office—not a hospital, Bones."

"The most beneficial tool would be the Tension Pneumothorax Access Kit since it would be able to reverse the damage temporarily of the collapsed lung. Perhaps if you dismantle an ink pen and insert the—"

"Booth," Hodgins's voice interrupted Doctor Brennan's intro to amateur lung surgery speech. "Ange said the traffic issue was sorted out so they'll be there in ten minutes, tops. What you've done so far should be good enough to keep Sweets alive until they get there."

"Yeah, but should I look for one of those Ashley Chest things or whatever the other thing was?" Booth really had no medical experience, but the shallow gasps that were being ripped from Sweets' heaving chest were not good. "He's having difficulty breathing."

"Hodgins is right," Cam added. "The materials that you are keeping over his wounds are keeping the oxygen from leaving through his chest cavity. Breathing will be painful but possible. Now just keep Sweets conscious."

"I can do that." Booth set the phone by his side so he could still hear them if necessary. With his free hand he pressed down further on the blood soaked tie with a groan of distaste. The sound of squelching fabric made frozen shudders run up Booth's spine when he realized that meant the tie was completely saturated in Sweets' blood. The pressure caused Sweets to fidget uncomfortably.

"Stop…" he mumbled again. "Please…"

"Wake up, Sweets, or I'll press harder." Booth was curious to see if he was still able to intimidate a semi-delirious psychologist. The young man obediently opened his dark eyes, but they were unfocused and drooping. "Come on, Sweets. You gotta get through this."

"Why?" The shrink's voice took on a surprisingly hostile tone.

This took Booth back quite a bit. "Cam, is it normal for him to be so…angry?"

"It's probably the pain," Hodgins stole the answer instead. His voice lowered significantly. "I know it isn't the same, but when Ange was giving birth, she was enti—" the entomologist cut off sharply as Angela probably came to the gathered group of squints.

"Attitude or not, Seeley, Sweets was shot through the lungs. Keep him talking, even if it makes no sense."

"The massive amount of blood loss most likely has caused minor delirium to settle in," Dr. Brennan added unhelpfully.

"Right." Hodgins's mention of family sparked an idea in Booth's head to keep Dr. Sweets awake. "Hey, Sweets, buddy, wake up. Stay with us." Sweets' raving gaze darted across the ceiling not unlike the former stare of the late Ronald Mathias. "I wouldn't want to be forced to explain how you gave up to your _godchild._"

The young man's eyes sharpened at the word. "Wha…?" he slurred. He narrowed his eyes and attempted to muddle through the problem with his "skrinky powers." A part of him had expected Booth to spurt of random nonsense to keep him engaged, but this certainly wasn't it.

"Yeah, you don't want Christine to have to endure your funeral."

There was massive shushing on the other side of the phone line. Most likely Booth's partner had made a critical remark on Booth's phrasing of the line and the others were trying to get her to shut up so they could hear what was going on with Booth and Sweets.

Booth's attempts to draw Sweets back into reality proved to be successful. After a painful, bloody gasp, the young genius shuffled himself to try to sit up.

"Hold up there for a second, Sweets. Just stay put." Booth gently guided the young man back down with his free hand.

"I…don't…understand," Sweets murmured.

"You're Uncle Sweets," he started with a smile, despite the fact that he was fairly certain that glossy film had slipped back over the psychologist's eyes again. "Behind Angela and Hodgins and Max, you're next to take care of her if something happens to us. You're going to be her godfather, but only if you stay awake. If you fall asleep again, I'll give the job to Fisher."

It was obvious that Sweets wanted desperately to stay awake and earn his spot as a potential godfather, but the exhaustion and lack of blood was finally starting to become impossible to stave off.

"That was very kind of you, Booth," the special agent heard buzz from his cell phone. Booth smiled and briefly tore his gaze from the still Sweets.

"We don't have to do it. He probably won't even remember this conversation later."

Dr. Brennan was quite for a moment. "But I _want _to do it. Christine is very fond of her Uncle Sweets. I do not think he is a particularly bad choice for a potential caregiver, despite the fact that his career rests upon unproven hypotheses about unpredictable occurrences in human nature."

Booth chuckled lightly. "Are you going to let her say that about your job, Sweets?" Booth's gaze jerked back Sweets, who had closed his eyes again. "Sweets?" He dug into the boy's injury to try to wake him up again. "Sweets? Wake up!"

"What's going on, Booth?"

"Sweets isn't waking up again." For one of the first times that night, Booth was finally starting to get scared. He shook the young man harder than he had before. "Wake up! _Sweets!_" _Stupid, stupid. Why weren't you watching him, Booth? _He chastised himself.

"Is he breathing?" some intern's worried tone broke through Booth's thoughts.

An icy claw grabbed Booth's heart and threatened to pull it out of his throat. His desperate eyes scoured the young man's chest for any sign of a weak rise or fall, but the kid was incredibly still. "No."

"Does he have a pulse?"

Booth dug his sticky crimson fingers underneath Sweets' neck. It took a while, but he was finally able to discern a faint and slow pounding against his fingertips. "Yes, he has a pulse, but it's weak. It's fading." _Please, God. Don't let him die. _

On the other side of the phone, the doctors were in a flurry trying to figure out the best course of action.

"Booth," Angela's voice broke through the din first. "The ambulance is only two minutes away."

"I'm not sure he can make it that long." Booth pressed an ear to Sweets' thin chest. The warm blood filtered into his ear. _No… _"Oh, no. _God, _no…"

"What is it?"

"His heart—it stopped beating."

"Are you sure?" Brennan's voice was starting to lose its emotionless tone.

"Of course I'm sure. I had my ear to his chest and I couldn't feel _anything_." Booth paused for a moment. "I have to do CPR."

"No! Don't! That'll cause more blood to pump out of him. With a bullet hole so close to his heart, you'll bleed him out in minutes!"

"If he doesn't perform CPR, Sweets _will _die immediately or he'll sustain serious brain damage from lack of oxygen."

"The ambulance is almost there!"

The Jeffersonian was a mess as each doctor screamed their advice at Booth. Their arguing and his lack of medical knowledge made it incredibly stressful on the special agent. In the end, he prayed Angela was right in that the ambulance was close by. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Booth pulled his hand from underneath Sweets' back, cringing at the sticky crimson stains on his hand. The psychologist didn't even flinch at the action; he didn't even move. Booth pressed both hand on the young man's chest, careful not to press directly on the bullet wound, and started his compressions. He tipped back the young man's neck and made a brief face before pinching his nose and crushing his lips to the shrink's mouth. The salty iron taste of blood nearly made Booth gag, but he delivered the two rescue breaths and returned to the compressions. It felt like he was doing the same motion forever. _Press…press…press…breathe…press…press…press… _Sweets still wasn't breathing, but he wasn't going to give up on him. Sweets save his life—they needed to be even.

"Dammit, Sweets," Booth growled as he started another set of compressions. "Come back!"

The blood was pooling around his hands like one of the squints had predicted. The multitude of colors shocked and disgusted Booth: his blue lips from lack of oxygen; his ivory, bloodless skin; his dark, sweat-sticky hair; all of the crimson blood. The amount of blood was overwhelming.

Suddenly a voice echoed down the hall. _"Hello? Seeley Booth?"_

Booth thought he was imagining things until he saw the flash of white from the uniforms of the paramedics. "Here!" he croaked. "We're in here!"

The medics swarmed into the room, stepping over the body of Mathias as if it wasn't there. "What happened, Special Agent Booth?"

"Sweets—his heart stopped." Booth was ready to dive into another set of compressions when one of the paramedics pulled the older man away from the younger. "What are you doing? You can't stop it or he'll die."

"We'll do what we can, sir," one of the paramedic's assured Booth as they tried to pull him from the painfully cold young man. "But you must understand—"

"What are you taking about? Don't you _dare _say you can't save h—"

"_Clear!_"

While the same incessant medic tried to patch up Booth's nick from the bullet, three other paramedics had already set up the defibrillators and had let the first charge pump through the psychologist's chest. Sweets' prone body jerked in the air like a broken ragdoll. The sight nearly ripped apart Booth's own heart. Whatever the medics had done, it didn't work since they set up for another attempt.

"_Clear!"_

Booth cringed as his coworker's chest bucked in the air again. There was a faint burning smell, but Booth quickly shoved the bile in his stomach back down. Instead of prepping for their next attempt, the head medical officer silently set down his paddles. They each checked for the young man's pulse, but their straight faces did not change to indicate good or bad news. Booth thought he saw the faint rise and fall of Sweet's chest, but it was entirely possible he was delusional.

"Will he make it?" Booth heard his voice, distant and tinny, echo weakly through the room. No one answered his question, but a small gurney was wheeled into the bloodstained office. He held his breath as they carefully lifted the psychologist onto the stretcher. He waited for the awful moment of the head paramedic pulling over the cloth while checking his watch for time of death, but it never happened. They simply just wheeled the still prone form of Sweets out of the office and out of his sight.

Seeing as his first few methods didn't work, he decided to show a little bluster. Turning to the annoying medic who was trying to sew stitches in his arm, he managed to pull out his badge. "I'm an FBI agent and you just wheeled away my partner. It is absolutely necessary that I am informed about his condition. If he's dead and you refuse to tell me, I can arrest you for obstruction of justice, since a murder _would have _taken place."

_Great. Now I sound like one of those lawyers I hate._

However, the only other person in the room with him simply sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, but regardless of what happens, you can check the hospital tomorrow. He'll either be alive or dead. It's really up to chance now."

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**I think I did a bad thing 'cause I think I'm leaving it here xD  
Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to their rightful owners.  
**Authors Note: **Honestly, I doubted I would come back to this. But I have xD. Expect the final part to be up sometime soon.  
Special thanks to my flawless reviewers! **PLK Susie, FaithinBones, Joanne Novak, Rose, Seletua, **and **Tommy!**

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_"I'm sorry, but regardless of what happens, you can check the hospital tomorrow. He'll either be alive or dead. It's really up to chance now."_

Special Agent Seeley Booth wasn't going to allow some paramedic to stop him from seeing his injured profiler. In a span of twenty-four hours, Booth had interrogated, been shot at, shot at someone, and held a young man while he nearly bled to death, watching as life literally left his eyes. His patience had been zapped long before Mathias had ever entered his office.

The needle for stiches kept slipping in and out of his skin in slow motion. He gritted his teeth—not from the pain, but from the slow monotony of the entire situation. Booth was not in the mood to wait any longer, especially when it was entirely his fault in the first place that his shrink got shot up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the vibrant, bright flash of red and white reflected in the dark, cold window pane. No doubt they were already loading Sweets' still body onto the ambulance. Mingled with the scarlet and white blurs was the periodical blaze of blue. Once the officers had learned that Mathias was involved, they had sent at least two squad cars to the scene, judging by unsynchronized flashes of cerulean. He thought he was imagining things, but one of the set of blue blurs pulled away from the window pane. The urgent red flashing also started to shift away slowly from Booth's reflection.

The ambulance was preparing to move, taking Sweets with it.

Booth focused back on the slow progress of his injury patching. The paramedic refused to hurry, even as another police car revved up its piercing siren and preceded the screaming ambulance on its way to the hospital.

"Can you hurry this up?" There was only one forlorn blue signal left twirling, most likely the officer who drew the short straw and was forced to remain with the body and the paperwork.

The paramedic gave Booth a sour stare, as if to say his speed of stitching had no effect on the psychologist's chance of survival, so the FBI agent had better stop fidgeting if he wanted to keep the feeling in his fingers. He declined to voice any of this out loud, though Booth seemed to get the gist of it.

However, that didn't mean the agent had to follow the doctor's unspoken suggestion. The moment the needle reappeared from Booth's skin, the agent gritted his teeth and jerked his arm. He was hoping that the sudden movement would startle the medic into dropping the needle, giving Booth a smooth getaway. No such luck, as the medic held tightly onto the needle, though he was obviously shocked. Booth grimaced again as he pulled his arm roughly again. There was a brief sear of pain as the string was ripped forcefully back out of the man's skin. But Booth fought the urge to stop and look down at the further opened wound as he jumped off of the desk he had been perched on and raced towards the door. He ignored the paramedic's furious squawks as he bolted towards the stairs, grateful for the heavy, soundproof door that swung shut behind him. Booth took two stairs at a time as he tried to navigate down the multiple floors as fast as possible. He tripped once, and almost tumbled down the rest of the flight, but grabbed the handrail just in time, nearly ripping his arm out of the socket. He ignored the flash of pain, holding his sore limb to his chest with his free hand, and descended the stairs more carefully—though no less slowly.

Feeling his heart pound loudly in his ears, Booth crashed through the doors that led to the stairs and paused for a moment to catch his breath. He dropped his hands to his knees, doubling over as he surveyed his next actions. Booth could still see the faint flash of blue reflected in the window.

_Good. They're still here; they can take me to Sweets fast. _

Booth's sudden, determined appearance caused the young officer reclined against the passenger door to jump. The young man halfway lifted his hand in a sloppy salute, then realized that he was in the wrong uniform. He dropped his hand stupidly and stood up straighter with a reddening face.

"Sir…? You must be Special Agent Booth. The man who made the call."

Booth regarded the young man for a moment. The boy had short cropped blonde hair and a few pimples on the bridge of his nose, but he didn't look that much older than Sweets. His light gray eyes peeked curiously at Booth with a faint glimmer of admiration.

"They told me what happened, sir, when they took the other agent to the hospital. Wow…" he murmured, his eye catching on Booth's bloody dress shirt.

The young man's words snapped Booth back to his purpose. "Get in the car. We're going to the hospital. _Now._"

Panic quickly replaced wonder in the boy's eyes. The remaining blush of red in his cheeks disappeared in a pale flush and a gulp. "I'm sorry, sir, but that isn't protocol, sir. An officer must remain with the body of a criminal at the crime scene at all times, sir, to prevent someone from tampering with evidence, sir."

Booth hadn't heard that many "sirs" since he was introduced to the knights of England a few years ago with Bones. "As an agent of the FBI, I am your superior officer, and I demand a police escort to the hospital where they took my partner. I have the right to detain you if you refuse to comply with a federal agent." Booth wasn't sure if this excuse would stand in any sort of court, but the kid was so fresh out of the police academy, he sincerely thought Booth was capable of putting a bullet in his skull for not following instructions.

The officer swallowed nervously again, his pale gray eyes darting from the road where the ambulance had disappeared minutes ago and back to his own whistling squad car. "I…I suppose I can make an exception, since you are my superior."

"Exactly." _Again, not really sure if that's true. _

"And I suppose Ronald Mathias won't be escaping anytime soon." The young man's eyes slid towards the doors to the Hoover building as if the reanimated corpse of Mathias was likely to burst through at any moment.

"There is a very determined and very angry paramedic who is with the body. He will not let anyone near it, I can guarantee you."

"Oh…kay," the young man drew out uncertainly. He was still unsure if what he was doing was right. Booth could tell the officer was about to make another attempt at dissuading Booth from forcing him away from his duty.

Booth sighed and locked gazes with the young man. "The agent who was shot—" the young officer frowned slightly "—is one of my best friends. He took the bullet that was meant for me and his heart gave out twice while waiting for the ambulance to arrive." The young man tried to look away, but he was unable to tear his dejected gaze from Booth's. "He might not make it through the night, and I…" Booth closed his eyes and swallowed. Hearing the words out loud made them ten times worse and twice as real. "I want to be able to say good-bye while I still can. It may already be too late." He broke the connection between the two and stared at the rotating bulb on the police vehicle.

The young officer's eyes were curiously bright and he nodded once. "Yeah, I'll take you. Damn the consequences." He hesitated for a moment as he waited by the driver's side door with one hand on the door handle. "Though I'd be grateful if you told my superior officers that I was required to take you by order of the FBI."

"Yeah, of course," Booth muttered, swinging himself into the front seat of the police cruiser. The young officer climbed into the driver's seat and threw the car into drive with an almost excited expression. Now that he had clearance to leave the site of the crime and was on, in his opinion, a special mission to unite an agent with his fallen partner, the officer was not so nearly as nervous. Booth glanced to the side at the young man. His youthful appearance reminded him again of Dr. Sweets and caused his gut to twinge painfully.

"What did you say you name was again?" Booth asked. "So I can be sure to tell your superiors about the favor you're doing me," he lied with a strained smile.

The officer glanced up in the rearview mirror and smiled faintly. "Chancy. Officer Chancy."

* * *

The drive to the hospital took almost a fourth of the time it would have taken if Booth had been in his own car. Once the whirling of the sirens reached the cars lined up in traffic, immediately they parted like the Red Sea. Booth was bitter for a moment, wondering how it was possible for the cars to move so fast while they were heading towards the hospital, but it took the ambulance an extra ten minutes to get to Sweets while he was bleeding in Booth's arms and they desperately needed the assistance.

Even though it was late at night, the hospital still seemed to be fairly crowded. Cars littered the parking lot like ants on a picnic blanket. Booth swallowed and suddenly had the horrible feeling that Sweets might have been pushed away due to overcrowding. However, the agent fought away the thought as he realized Sweets' condition would take precedent over the simple broken arm or the mother in labor. After all, he was also a federal agent and would be taken care of accordingly.

"There's the ambulance that took him in!" Officer Chancy gestured wildly towards the ambulance that was parked closest towards the Emergency Room loading dock. All of the lights were off in the ambulance, but one lone paramedic was slouched on the edge of the vehicle, his feet dangling over the back lip of the truck and his head buried in his hands. The perfect picture of exhausted sorrow. Ice gripped Booth's lungs and he nearly launched himself out of the moving police car to rush towards the paramedic and demand Sweets' progress. However, Booth forced himself to remain perfectly still as Chancy parked.

"I hope your friend is okay," the young officer whispered softly. "He sounds like a hero."

_He is. _Booth nodded once and reached towards the handle to free himself of the car. He paused and turned towards the young police officer. "Hey, can you do me one more favor?"

Chancy nodded once. "Yes, sir. Anything you need."

"Do you know where the Jeffersonian is?"

"Yeah!" The young man perked up excitedly, then remembered the somber situation and sat back down with a forced frown. "I mean, yes, sir. I went there on a field trip a few yea—"

"All right, I get it. Can you provide a police escort to the hospital for a few of my friends at the Jeffersonian. They should be there. Jack Hodgins, Angela Montenegro, Cam Saroyan, and Temperance Brennan." The young man's expression brightened. He recognized at least one of these names, but he didn't say anything else.

Booth pulled the handle, slipped out of the car and paused before slamming the door. "Thank you, Officer Chancy."

The young man smiled widely, his soft gray eyes shining brightly. "No problem, Agent Booth." Booth let the door close shut slowly and turned back towards the seemingly distraught paramedic. He heard the squeal of tires and a flare of headlights and Officer Chancy was gone to bring the squints in.

In quick, determined steps, Booth was soon standing in front of the older medic. He fished around in his pocket for his badge, but the man lifted his head and smiled wearily at Booth.

"Agent Booth, I presume?"

The special agent swallowed thickly and nodded slowly. The man was older than Booth, perhaps in his fifties or sixties with faded brown eyes and loose gray hair arranged on the top of his head. Heavy lines crossed his face from the stress of the job, and in the moment the man looked absolutely exhausted. Booth realized with a start that he was the man who had read Sweets' pulse the first time.

The older man sighed loudly and straightened up to get a better look at Booth. The latter was too terrified to ask about the current condition of the psychologist and waited in the horrible silence to gather his courage. _Come on, Seeley. Just ask!_

"I don't think we got to meet properly at the Hoover building," the paramedic stuck his hand out for Booth to shake. The special agent started at it warily before numbly returning the favor.

"How's Sweets?" Booth blurted out, unable to hold in the worry any longer. His unspoken thoughts babbled through his mind like a torrent. _Is Sweets alive? Is he dead? Why aren't you in there helping if he's alive? Why are you so cheery if he's dead? Why are you so tired? What is wrong—there should be nothing wrong. He _has _to be okay. He has to be fine because I have to call him an idiot for jumping in front of the bullet. _His mind took a dark turn for the worse. _I can't go to his funeral. I don't even know who to tell if he's dead. I don't even know where he wants to be buried. I can't do it alone, but his parents are already gone. He's too young to die. It's all my fault._

Booth's distress must've been evident on his face, for the older man placed a warm, wrinkled hand on the agent's shoulder. "Don't worry, son. He's still alive, as far as I know. They wheeled him out of the ambulance stronger than when he came in."

The special agent nodded a few times, trying to force air back into his lungs. "Were there any problems on the way?" he pressed.

The faded paramedic looked very tired for a moment. "He nearly crashed on us again from blood loss and our temporary store of blood didn't carry enough of what we needed for him." Booth regarded the man with wide eyes. "It was touch and go there for a moment, but luckily we got things sorted out."

"_How?"_

The older man lifted up his right arm with a wan smile. Booth hadn't realized that the man's right sleeve had been cuffed and a white bandage had been wrapped around a vein. "It was a good thing his wallet was still left in his pocket, otherwise we would have never known Dr. Sweets' blood type. Thankfully it wasn't too exotic," the FBI agent wasn't sure if he was imagining things or not, but he thought the paramedic _winked _at him, "so I was able to help out a bit." The paramedic rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "I provided almost twice the normal amount of blood during donation drives, but it was worth it to see the color returned to that young man's face." He regarded his slightly trembling hands with a curious frown. "But I'm afraid I would only get in the way in this condition, so I was made to stay back while they took your partner to the operating room." He frowned again. "I'm sorry, but I don't know his condition."

Booth swallowed a lead lump in his throat. He didn't know why his eyes were burning so sharply at this moment, but he felt the odd urge to hug the paramedic in front of him. He settled for a shaky smile and an outstretched hand. He didn't care that he had already shaken the man's hand. "I can't thank you enough. You probably saved his life."

The doctor took the offering and shook it warmly. "I should be the one to thank the both of you for killing that son of a bitch." No doubt he was referring to Mathias. "He put my sister into a coma fifteen years ago before you locked him up. He's the reason I changed jobs and got my medical degree to be here," the man rapped the hard, metallic base of the ambulance with a curled. "So I could help people, just like people helped Anne wake up." He smiled weakly at Booth. "He's the reason I was able to help your friend today. What are the chances of that?"

* * *

Booth had been uncomfortably perched on the hard cushioned seat in the Emergency Room for about twenty minutes before the others arrived in a flurry of hiccupping gasps and wide, worrying frowns. The special agent flagged them down with a somber wave and they gathered around him in a messy semi-circle, waiting ravenously for any information regarding their youngest team member.

The questions exploded violently.

"How is he, Booth?"

"Is he stable?"

"Have they taken him into surgery yet?"

"What happened?"

"Are you alright?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Booth raised his hands impatiently and the clamor immediately died down. They watched the agent expectantly. Booth licked his dry lips and launched into his answers. "Sweets is in the middle of surgery at this moment, though they told me his condition is still critical. They've also managed to put some blood back into his system and the emergency transfusion seems to have been accepted by his body, they said."

"Emergency transfusion? Did you…?" Angela offered slowly. She eyed the crimson stains all over the agent's once white shirt and shuddered. There was too much blood and she had a horrible feeling that most of it belonged to their little shrink.

Booth shook his head. "I haven't actually seen Sweets. They didn't let me in the ambulance" _because they were probably afraid of what I would do if he flatlined. Again. _"One of the paramedics shared his blood type so they rigged up a quick transfusion."

"Remind me to send him a fruit basket," murmured Hodgins with an almost incredulous expression.

Dr. Brennan's face was quite pale. "Yes, I agree. Dr. Sweets is indeed very fortunate."

"How long until they can tell us more about Sweets?" Angela pressed. Her dark eyes were wet and sparkling, though she wasn't actually crying yet.

Booth shrugged, feeling a sense of numbness consumed his toes and travel up his body. "The surgery could take a few more hours, depending on how quickly they are able to patch up his lung."

Cam squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. "So there was an issue with his lungs. Oh God…"

Brennan frowned. Even though she rarely worked with living tissue, she knew enough from Dr. Saroyan's work to know that lungs were particularly fickle objects when it came to operations. Her eyes glazed over her partner and her lover, desperate to see if he was damaged in anyway. Her eyes caught on his bloody, rolled back sleeve and the angry, severed mark of skin.

"Booth! You're injured!"

"Dude, what happened?" Hodgins' worried blue gaze took in Booth's bloody shirt and darted back to the jagged slice on his arm. "What caused that?"

Booth regarded his own injury with only mild concern. "One of the paramedics tried to put in stitches, but I, uh," he paused for a moment, "ripped them out when they were taking Sweets away. I had to follow him here, but the guy wouldn't let me leave until they were done." The others stared at him with expressions ranging from partial admiration (Hodgins) to horror (Angela and Brennan) to just plain "WhythehellwouldyoudothatSeeleyBooth" (Cam).

"You ripped out your own stitches to get to Sweets?" Hodgins repeated again, staring at the FBI agent with a new sense of respect.

Booth nodded once and opened his mouth to explain something else, but Dr. Brennan interrupted him.

"What caused you to need stitches in the first place?"

Cam tilted her head at her former flame. "What exactly happened, Booth? Understandably, you weren't able to give us a really vivid description on the phone."

"Yeah, I was a bit preoccupied," he muttered wryly. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "All right, well, Sweets and I were just trying to put together one last case file that would have possibly shut down this current investigation you guys were working at the lab on. Then Mathias shows up with a gun and threatens to shoot us. I'm really glad Sweets got his license to carry a gun, because the next part was great." Booth smiled slightly as he remembered the frazzled memory. "He nailed Mathias in the shoulder when he wasn't expecting it, but Mathias still pulled the trigger as he fell backwards."

"He aimed at Sweets?"

Booth's frown deepened and he buried his hands in his pockets. "Not exactly."

Dr. Brennan was trying to reenact the entire situation in her mind and seemed to have come to a road block. "You said the bullet came into contact first with Sweets' back and exited through his chest…? And only one bullet was fired because by then you would have reacted in time to incapacitate Mathias?" Booth nodded stiffly. "Then the only plausible conclusion I can think of that involves both yours and his injury is something like this." She gingerly placed a hand on Booth's injured shoulder and her other hand on the side of his upper arm. She pulled herself closer to the FBI agent slightly so that it looked almost as if they were ballroom dancing at a distance. "In this position, the bullet would have entered by the base of the spine and traveled at approximately a 45 degree angle until it exited his chest and skimmed across your own skin." Dr. Brennan paused for a moment. "Am I correct, Booth?"

Booth looked away almost if he were ashamed. "Yes…"

Collective gasps rose from the remaining three visitors.

"Why were you guys standing like that?"

"It looks like Sweets was…_shielding_ you," Hodgins murmured with squinting, darting eyes. His crystalline aqua orbs could not and would not settle on one person. They moved from Booth to Brennan back to Booth and around at the others.

"He was," Booth tersely shrugged Bones' hands off of him. "He saw that Mathias was going after me and he pushed himself in the way," he muttered bitterly.

The others were silent for a moment. Cam was the first who seemed to realize what was running through her friend's mind at the moment. "Seeley, this isn't your fault."

The special agent flicked his heavy gaze in her direction before stalking off to the other side of the lobby with a feigned interest in the water fountain. Brennan went to follow him, but Angela caught her wrist with a soft shake of the head that sent her curls shuddering in the air.

"Just let him be alone for a while, Sweetie. This hit him harder than any of us."

* * *

Three cheers for Officer Chancy (geddit? xD) and random paramedic man!  
**Thanks to everyone who had read, favorited, reviewed, and followed this :D**


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